


We'll Always Have Paris

by verhalen



Series: Northern Lights [25]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, Worldweavers - Multiverse
Genre: Alternate Universe, Future, M Rated For (Brief) Dirty Thoughts, Maglor (Tolkien) Through History, Maglor in the Modern-day, Multi, No Smut, One Shot, Paris (City), Past Lives, Polyamory, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 12:40:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19357219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: In the year 2047, paths reconnect.Set in theNorthern Lightsuniverse, won't make sense if you haven't readChains of Eternity.





	We'll Always Have Paris

**May 2047**  
 _Paris, France_  
  
"Oh, wow."  
  
The young woman with reddish blonde hair paused to get a better look at the painting. There was a man with long dark hair to his knees, clad in a red robe with a flaming star brooch, a crown with three brilliant jewels on his brow, arm-in-arm with a man who looked very like him, same long dark hair, but grey-blue eyes, wearing a blue robe and a brooch of a different shape, set with blue diamond crystals. They were in a lush, vibrant garden, exquisitely detailed, waterfalls cascading in the background, and a butterfly danced on the tip of the finger of the red-clad man, who smiled at it.  The butterfly's wings had a sea of stars and swirling nebulas. The painting was entitled _The Butterfly Effect_.  
  
Seeing what caught her attention, the woman's companions came over. One was a tall man with long auburn hair to the middle of his back, the other equally tall, with long dark hair tied in a low ponytail. They were all dressed casually on the warm spring day - the woman in a floral-print summer dress and bonnet to shield her fair skin, the auburn-haired one in jeans and a T-shirt, the dark-haired one wearing khakis and a short-sleeved blue button-down shirt. She put an arm around each of them, as they leaned in for a better look.  
  
"That's amazing," said the one with auburn hair. He chuckled softly. "That smile, though. He looks like he's up to something."  
  
"His brother... I think that's his brother? Deadpan, but there's a look in his eyes, like he's in on it too." The dark-haired man nodded.  
  
There was a small clear of the throat. The three turned around.  
  
"You like that?" A soft, shy, deep voice.  
  
"I don't like it, I love it. It's bloody brilliant." The woman's lovely face lit up.  
  
The slim, tall man with shoulder-length dark curls, a beard, dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, pale, full lips and a smoldering look to him, wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt and black trousers, smiled. "I'm the artist."  
  
"You're... wow. All of your work on display here, it's amazing."  
  
"Do you take commissions?" asked the man with the dark ponytail. "Would you be willing to paint the three of us, for the right price...?"  
  
"Probably. Would you like to meet me for coffee, so we can talk about it?"  
  
  
_  
  
  
They met down the street at an open-air bistro, a large round table with an umbrella, where the woman and her two companions sat across from the man and his two companions.  
  
"I'm Sebastian Sundfør," the dark-haired artist introduced himself, "and these are my husbands, Marcus Lauer," long dark hair to the middle of his back worn loose, pale, grey eyes, a black Metallica T-shirt and dark blue jeans, with wire-rimmed glasses, "and Nicholas Decaux," short silver hair, dark eyes, olive skin and a short silver beard, also wearing wire-rimmed glasses, khakis and a button-down short-sleeved off-white shirt that had a couple buttons open at the top, revealing a little silver chest hair... and he was sporting a Rolex watch, considered very old-school in these days. The three had matching white-gold wedding bands.  
  
"I thought you sounded Scandinavian," the woman said.  
  
"Oslo." He wasn't from Oslo, and his name wasn't Sebastian Sundfør. "And you're from... Scotland?"   
  
He placed the accent, as it was where his cousin had been living for some time with his partner, before they too began the journey of changing names, changing places; Ari and Harrison were in Halifax now.  
  
The woman nodded. "St. Andrews. I'm Catherine MacLeod, everyone calls me Cate, and this is my husband Tim," she gestured to the auburn-haired man, "and his boyfriend Gil, Gilford Wilson-Taylor. Gil's from Sydney."  
  
"Ah, Sydney's a lovely city." They shook each other's hands; Sören kissed Cate's hand with a little smile, making her blush and giggle.  
  
"You've been there?" Gil asked.  
  
"I've been a lot of places."  
  
"I guess you have, I saw some gorgeous landscapes of different cities among your work back in the gallery," Cate said. "Magical landscapes, I loved the blend of fantasy and mundane! You have quite a lot of talent, and you're so young..."  
  
"I'm not that young."  
  
"You can't be over thirty-five, can you?"  
  
A wry smile. "Close enough." Sören would be sixty-three in November; he'd stopped aging a few months before his thirty-fifth birthday. "Nicholas" had stopped aging at seventy, and he was even older, ninety-nine this December.  _I need to have Maglor sing the balloon song for his birthday._  It was so strange to think about, especially knowing that Dooku had to pretend to be a millennial now, his fake ID paperwork listing him as born in 1980. The first time he'd heard "Nicholas" tell someone  _when I was your age, I played Pokemon Go, you kids these days don't know what real gaming is,_  if Sören - an actual millennial - hadn't been immortal he would have died.  
  
"I'm twenty-four," Cate said. "Tim's twenty-six, and Gil's twenty-eight."  
  
"Gil acts like he's forty-eight," Tim teased.  
  
"Someone has to be the responsible adult, and it's not you," Gil teased back.  
  
Sören and Dooku grinned at each other, and under the table Sören squeezed his hand.  
  
"Twenty-four, wow," Sören said, then. "So young."  _Same age I was when I met Maglor._  His eyes met Maglor's, who gave a small nod of acknowledgment, and Sören knew across their bond he was thinking the same thing.  
  
"I've already got a doctorate in archaeology," Cate informed him. "I'm taking a gap year before I start working on my post-doctorate."  
  
"She's bloody brilliant," Tim said. "We met at university."  
  
"Tim is my colleague. My 'research assistant.'" Cate made air quotes, and they exchanged a naughty glance. Gil snorted.  
  
"Behave, you two," Gil said. "Let's not scare away our new friends."  
  
"It takes a lot to scare us," Dooku said in the fake French accent that Sören found sexy and hilarious at the same time, knowing it wasn't Dooku's real accent, but he had to play the part of Nicholas Decaux in public, returning to his upper-class London accent in private.  
  
"Ja, you might even say we're the scary ones, when you get to know us," Maglor said in his fake German accent, and when the waiter came over with their drinks and pastries, Maglor took his coffee with a " _Danke._ "  
  
Cate's grey-blue eyes twinkled with mischief, her pert nose crinkling in a way Sören found vaguely arousing. "I've heard artists can be pretty wild." Sören could pick up that she was flirting with him.  
  
Sören grinned back at her, trying to beat back the naughty thoughts he was starting to have about seducing her - wondering if she was red-gold everywhere - maybe the six of them having an orgy.  _You just met these people, chill._  "I'm wild enough to make 'pretty wild' look tame. But enough about me. You're interested in being painted?"  
  
"Probably," Gil said. "We'd want to compensate you fairly, of course."  
  
"Of course." Sören couldn't resist teasing, making a fairy tale reference. "I'll just need your firstborn..."  
  
Cate giggled. "Would a cat do?" she joked.  
  
"I love cats."  
  
Cate pulled out a pocket computer, and showed Sören a gallery of digital photos of a grey tabby. Sören started squealing and talking baby talk at the pictures, not able to help himself even though he was in public, as Maglor and Dooku rolled their eyes and smiled fondly.  
  
"He's so precious. Does he have a name?" Sören sipped his cappucino.  
  
"Copernicus."  
  
Sören almost choked. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. Tim's grey eyes widened a little with concern. "Are you all right?" he asked.  
  
"Went down the wrong pipe." Sören laughed nervously, and his eyes met Maglor's, knowing he was feeling it too; Maglor looked at Tim then, the intensity of his gaze almost piercing the young man.  
  
 _Nothing is ever ended._


End file.
